


Mr Sandman

by brodylover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Episode: s05e04 The End, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer as Sam | Sam as Lucifer, Michael as Dean | Dean as Michael, Nightmare, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has dreams of what was, what could have been, what should never be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr Sandman

Castiel is surrounded by the flames and the ice of Hell. He is alone. His brothers have all fallen along the way. Before him is a little demon, its eyes not yet completely black. When he looks into them, he can see a small stripe of green still remaining.   
"This is not where you belong." the angel explained, "You are free to leave this place."  
"No." the little demon argued, "I am damned. I have sinned and here I have been made whole."  
"That is not true. You are the only one who can save the world. Let me save you."  
The little demon reached out, grabbing the soldier by the throat. The blackness in its eyes stretched and the green was hidden from view. Castiel reached out, scraping his nails along the skin of the demon's arms, trying to pull away. But, this was Hell and demons rule there. That was the only reason that they had been able to kill the other members of Castiel's platoon.  
Cold chains were wrapped around the angel's wrists and ankles, strapping him spread eagle to the bloodstained rack. The little demon pulled out a knife, a long, carved filleting knife and headed towards Castiel.  
"This isn't how it's supposed to go." Castiel cried out as the knife dug into him, "You're supposed to say yes. You're supposed to want out of this."  
His blood drips to the ground.  
"Dean, please."  
"Don't step on that fish, Castiel." Lucifer said, one hand on his little brother's shoulder, "Big plans for that fish."  
The ocean before Castiel was gray and unmoving, other than a few rising bubbles and ripples. Then there was a little gray fish, just as he remembered it, heaving itself onto the dry beach. It was not a fish though, not really. It looked more like a large, arm thick worm, with ridges and scoots along its body. It had no eyes or face at all, just a hole with sharp teeth inside.   
He turned back to Lucifer, he would know what to do, but Lucifer was no longer Lucifer. He had no face either, just a hole filled with sharp teeth. His hand on Castiel's shoulder became a grip, tight and unrelenting, and he pulled the young angel forward, the teeth coming in contact with the skin of his face. Without hesitation what had been Lucifer pulled back, ripping Castiel's face from where it belonged. 

There was a moan, like something rough was hurt and close. Sam twitched awake, sitting up in the armchair he had been sleeping in. Dean was sound asleep in one of the motel beds, Cas in the other. It was Sam's turn to sleep on the ground and he'd been stupid enough to think that the armchair would be more comfortable. It was hard being tall.   
Grabbing the demon knife and hiding it in his sleeve he left the motel room, looking for the cause of the noise. He walked through the parking lot, the courtyard, even walked the entire perimeter of the motel before being satisfied and believing that the sound had just been in his mind. There was nothing out there.   
He returned to the room and set the knife down, ready to sleep on the floor. He glanced at Cas and suddenly he knew what the moan had been.

He was bleeding but he didn't know where. It was his own blood, he could feel the pain of it, but it was mixed with all of the blood from those around them. His gun was empty but all of them had been put down. Castiel didn't know what they were though, they looked human.   
He had a headache like he'd had after drinking that liquor store, but he did not have any aspirin on him. He had many other pills on him though. They were in little orange bottles without any labels and they were hidden in someone else's clothes. They were not his. His overcoat was gone, his suit and tie missing. He was wearing something blue and loose with jeans and one of Dean's old jackets. It still smelled like him.   
He looked out the window and gasped. Down below him he could see Sam, but it was not Sam, talking to Dean, who was not Dean. Sam was wearing a white suit and he was carrying a rose. Dean was much the same but more harsh, less human. He had the colt in his hand.   
Dean shot Sam in the head. This was not happening. It could not happen. Dean would die for Sam, do anything in his and anyone else's power to save him. He would not shoot him.   
But Sam rose up and cracked his neck, as if nothing had happened. Then he punched Dean in the face and he fell, hard, to the garden floor. Sam's shoulders relaxed as he placed one loafered foot on his brother's neck and stepped down, breaking the bones and killing him.  
Castiel was screaming now. It was wrong. This would never happen. His leg worthless and his body a torrent of pain and blood loss, he stumbled down the stairs, racing out of the building and over to Dean's side.   
Sam, who wasn't Sam, smiled at him as he fell to Dean's side in exhaustion.   
"Who are you?" Castiel cried.  
"Don't you recognize me, little brother?" Dean snarled, looking down at him.   
Castiel was struggling, his weak arms gripping at Dean's. But it wasn't Dean. Castiel couldn't speak, Michael cutting off his windpipe, strangling him with Dean's hands. It hurt, ice in his painfully human lungs. When did that happen? When had he become a weak and powerless human?  
There were spots dancing before his blue eyes and he tried to keep them away, tried to stay conscious, but it was hard, too hard, and he was so tired, every muscle screaming in oxygen starvation. He closed his eyes. 

"Dean!" Sam shook his brother's shoulders, hard, forcing him awake. There was a gun in the hunter's hand immediately.   
"What?" he yawned, but his eyes were fully awake, ready for anything, "What's happening?"  
"Nothing like that." Sam reassured and Dean set the gun down, following his brother's gaze as he looked to Cas, still trembling and moaning in his sleep, his breaths coming in gasps.  
"So?" Dean shrugged, "He's probably just dreaming. You've seen how animals sleep, dogs and cats? They shake when they dream, muscles acting out the dream. That's all that's happening here. He's probably dreaming of fighting demons or something."  
He got himself comfortable again, pulling the blankets over his shoulders. He was going to go back to sleep; leave Cas in that weird quaking state.  
"He isn't an animal, Dean." Sam argued, "He's our friend. Have you forgotten? Angel's don't sleep."  
That caught Dean's attention. He studied his friend, trying to read his movements.   
"This is probably the first dream he's ever had." Sam continued, "He must be terrified."

Castiel was floating, far above the Earth. There was nothing tying him to the globe, not anymore. The continents were no longer green and yellow, and the oceans were no longer blue. The land was burning and the water was black. Everything was dead.   
If he looked closely he could see the flames.  
They consumed everything, feeding off of whatever there still was. Wood and furniture, photos and memories, a mother and wife, burning away into nothingness.   
Castiel's back was leaning against an ambulance, which had followed the fire trucks there. There was no longer anything in the house to save, the three most important things, albeit without the one thing that they felt was more important than all of them, had gotten out, they were safe.  
The angel took his eyes away from the burning house and over to the black Chevy Impala, the family huddling around it. John clutched the four year old Dean to his chest and Dean was holding the six month old Sam in between them. Their father was crying and kissing them over and over again, never taking his eyes off of that building, not taking his eyes off of where he had last seen his wife. Later, he would have to explain to his sons what death was.

Sam shook Cas softly, whispering his name and trying to wake him without startling him too much. It didn't work though and Cas woke hard, eyes wide and gasping breaths louder, sucking in as much oxygen as he could. His eyes were wet and he stared at Sam with a dry mouth, trying to find his words.  
"Is…" he started, before wetting his mouth with his tongue and trying again, "Is this. Real?"  
Sam placed a hand on Cas's shoulder, a small smile on his face as he bent forward, keeping their eyes on the same level, "Yeah, Cas. You were dreaming. It's okay. What was it?"  
Cas looked embarrassed for a moment, his eyes averted from the large hunters. Then he lunged forward, grabbing Sam's plaid shirt in his hands and drawing it close, burying his face into Sam's chest. Sam stared at him, in shock, before understanding just how terrified the former angel really had been, how right he was about Cas's reaction to his first dream, and put his arms around Cas's shaking shoulders, patting him on the back.  
"Hey, hey." He promised, "It's okay. We're here."  
"It was horrible. I saw things that were, things that could have been, things that may still be. Promise me, Sam, Dean. Promise me you won't say yes."  
"What? Of course, Cas. Why would we?" Sam's fingers tightened a bit in Cas's button up shirt. He didn't have pajamas, so he was just in his shirt and boxers. It wasn't right, he wasn't fully human, but they could take care of that later.  
"Why would we ever want to?" Dean added, standing to the side, arms crossed. This was a bit uncomfortable, too much like a chick flick moment for him.  
Cas smiled faintly, letting go of Sam and allowing him to keep a bit of his masculinity in check. The former angel's eyes were red and puffy, but there was no wetness on his face. It had all been restrained and kept in, just the way he had seen it done by Dean so many times.   
The hunters kept watching him, making sure he was alright. It felt weird, having them stare at him and he wondered if that was how they felt when he stared at them. They were taking care of him, as if he were their friend instead of a soldier on their side of a war, no, more than that, like he was a brother, a little brother who needed to be protected.   
"I don't think I like sleep." He admitted, his voice wavering slightly.


End file.
